ferretface_git | Locked to Luna

Locked to Luna

Christmas. The season of love and giving and peace and good will and blah blah blah...

He'd been... melancholy lately, to say the least. Even for him. It wasn't Christmas that had brightened his spirits, and certainly not her, he told himself, and it didn't come from any sort of self-awareness... some revelation that he needed to pull himself out of the dumps if he ever wanted to have anything resembling a life again. No, it happened gradually. He thought less and less of what he'd lost, until one morning he woke up and didn't immediately want to throw himself off a cliff.

Still, stopping off in his room to grab his favorite hat before he went traipsing out into the snow and finding the brood of magazine cut-outs of Potter's face staring up at him from his pillow, jolly and glittery and smiling awkwardly in a row, he heaved out a sigh. Gritting his teeth and snatching them up, he calmly carried them into the rec room, where he knew there was a fire.

He'd been annoyed there, for a moment, but tossing the little faces into the flames helped to lighten his mood even more. Maybe he ought to thank her...

Not likely.

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"I can't tell if you didn't like them, or if you liked them too much," Luna says. She's spent most of her day at the compound, and isn't really sure where her various layers have gone. She's proper, at least, in a dress worn to softness and thick ribbed socks that come up past her knees.

But she's pleased to see him, not bothering to hide the way her face lights up.

"I despise them them in every way!" he declared, but there was something strange happening to his face. He was... almost smiling.

Well, almost.

"My, that's a dramatic statement," Luna says, and she's more pleased than ever, sitting down on the sofa to watch. "Oh, poor Harry. There's all these Muggle publications with that young man who looks like him, and articles about a play that would give you nightmares."

"Then I suggest you keep it you yourself," he said in a tone that, for Draco Malfoy, could almost pass for cheerful.

Tossing the last into the fire, he dusted glitter from his palms and turned to face her. "So, to what do I owe those lovely gifts. Boredom?" Lovely, of course, was relative. He was very thankful to be rid of all those tiny little troll faces.

She won't, of course, keep it to herself, but now's not the time. If she's very good, Luna thinks maybe the bookshelf will give her the film of it for Christmas.

"Mostly. I also enjoy making crafts."

"In the future, try and keep your handiwork off my pillow," he muttered, though there was still something a bit like amusement curling the corners of his pale lips, "I'd like to be able to sleep there without having nightmares."

"I'd much rather be on your pillow anyway," announces Luna, cheerfully keeping the secret of how those magazines are just as fond of Hermione. Apparently, she's a bit of a fashion model. "Unless I give you nightmares as well."

"You've been known to," he answered easily, but he had to admit, finding her on his pillow was rarely an unpleasant occurrence recently. Well, no, he didn't have to admit it. It could simply be the truth, without them ever having to speak about it.

Ever.

"How disappointing," Luna says. "And I'd been hoping to spend tonight there. Or even the afternoon. I can always go camping, I suppose." She stretches her arms up over her head, yawning.

"Suit yourself," he said with a careless shrug, but it took a startling amount of effort to sink down into a nearby armchair and look away in an attempt to dismiss her.

"You're rather impossible," Luna tells him, having not taken too much offense. Instead of leaving as she's said, she instead goes over and sets herself on his lap without permission. "To get a rise from."

"No, I'm usually surprisingly easy," he admitted, arching a brow and sitting stiffly, hands at his sides, "I must be developing an immunity to you. Imagine that."

"I find this an unfortunate situation." She wraps her arms around her neck all the same, as if he isn't sitting there like she's covered in mud or worse. "Or is it? I can't tell."

"I suppose you'll never know," he drawled, rolling his eyes and nudging her less than gently off his lap, "All right. Come on, then. If you're so tired." He steered her toward the doorway, sweeping down the hall on his own and carefully keeping his distance so they didn't both get caught under the mistletoe.

"Terribly so," Luna drawls right back, floating along in his wake. She sometimes wonders if he misses wearing robes all the time. If Professor Snape were here, she thinks that would be the worst part for him, trying to sweep down the hallway in a sarong.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, making no effort to hide it, though he knew it would be clear enough to her that he wasn't all that irritated. One of the worst things about all this was how well she seemed to know him by now. Without Lyra around, Luna Lovegood knew him better than anyone else on the island. She was, in most all ways that counted, his only friend. It was a terrifying fact he was still trying to wrap his mind around.

The trip to the room, however, was a thankfully short one, so he didn't have to expel too much energy to pretend at being deeply annoyed.

Luna bounces into the room shortly afterward, closing the door behind her. She goes first to the window, peering out, and then takes the opportunity to jump onto Draco's bed, landing on her knees. Flopping onto her stomach, she watches him.

Dear Lord, she was such a child. He knew this probably made him a very, very bad man but he'd already been condemned by most of his peers, so what was a little more criminality thrown into the pot?

Rolling his eyes, he breathed out a sigh and stepped forward, pulling his green jumper over his head and letting it fall to the floor, his white hair falling across his eyes. It was well overdue for a cut.

Luna sits up then, pleased to see that her reading of the situation was correct, and smiles a little, content. "The weather looks poor," she announces. "We'll need something to occupy us all afternoon."

And with that, she pulls her dress up over her head and tosses it away.

Well, that did the job to erase wherever reservations he might have been feeling. It was a strange thought, but by now, he was used to the sight of her in his bed. The paleness of her skin on the sheets, the curve of her bare shoulder, the fall of her hair across the pillow. He knew her body now. He could have shut the light off, pulled the curtains, plunged the room into darkness and it wouldn't have mattered.

Kicking off his shoes, he knelt down at the foot of the bed, just watching her, and for a moment he didn't feel ashamed for it.

It's surprising, to be watched so openly, and without the usual assortment of defenses. It jolts Luna from her own defenses too-- if he's an ass to hide his insecurities, she can be equally accused of having her head in the clouds for the same reason.

She's entirely present, though, as she peels off her long socks. When she's finished, she holds her hand out to him, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

It wasn't out of any real effort, but over time, he'd learned that the better he made it for her, the better she made it for him. It was the type of lesson most learn when they're still children. More flies with honey, that sort of thing.

He was and always would be a late bloomer when social skills were involved.

When she held out her hand to him he didn't take it, but he crawled closer, slipping a hand between her knees and nudging them apart.

If he saw the look in her eyes, he pretended not to notice.

Predictable, maybe, but Luna's grateful for it in her own way, letting her thighs fall open easily for him. She wonders if she could ever get him to be comfortable enough to try any of the things she's read about in books-- and oh, has she.

Her breath hitches, in anticipation.

His eyes flicker up to her face, startled to hear that tiny gasp of breath, as if he'd forgotten she was even there. He hadn't, of course, and the sound was enough to shake him out of whatever worries were currently replaying in his head.

He didn't kiss her like he worshiped her. He didn't touch every inch of her body. He had a hard time even bringing himself to spend any time on her, but he wasn't completely capable of learning. Step by tiny step, he was becoming less of a clumsy-handed bastard in bed. It was, even without much exaggeration, a miracle.

Still, it was a bit of a surprise, even to him, when he ducked his head and pressed his lips to her belly, just below the navel where her skin was softest.

It's a surprise to her too, though a welcome surprise.

To be honest, his ability to surprise her is one of Luna's favorite things about Draco. She lets out another small sigh, eyes drifting shut for a moment. If he weren't so uptight, she would have so many questions for him, about what he likes and how things feel for him and-- well, a great many things.

Instead, she deliberately brushes her knee up his thigh.

He kissed his way up, tracing a line from her navel to her breastbone, basking in the strange, smug sort of satisfaction he felt. He could do this, there was no one left to tell him it was wrong, no legacy left to live up to.

Before, he'd been able to embrace the wrongness of it, but now, it didn't feel so much like a crime anymore.

Taking a detour, he flicked his tongue out over one nipple, almost as if he were testing the waters. Ah, yes. I can do that without being struck down where I stand.

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Locked to Luna

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